Remnant
by Levan
Summary: What does she remember most about him? Is it his obnoxious chattering? His immature personality? No, it wasn't. It was his chivalry, his broad physique, and his glimmering, auburn hair. To see him again in an evil, relentless form, was her sorrow relived.
1. Prologue

A/N: Hey. If you're here reading this now, then the title and/or the summary had definitely caught your attention… I hope. Or you were simply surfing through the fanfics and happen to "accidentally" click on my fanfiction…

*Clears throat* Well now, on to the serious business. I finally broke my writer's block and went back to writing! Yay for me! This fic is a multi-chapter story featuring some, if not, most characters of the Resident Evil franchise. I've been writing too much mushy love stuff lately that I had forgotten to concentrate on what Resident Evil is about: the mystery behind the world of bio-warfare! But of course I can't really stop myself writing anything about love, *pukes* I guess I have no choice. If you have read this whole statement of mine, then thank you very much. Reviews would be pretty great as well. :D

Also, please pardon my amateurish "grammer" or whateva you guys would call it. Now, onto the story!

Disclaimer: The Resident Evil Franchise is the property of dear ol' Capcom. However, on the occasion that I made an original character somewhere along the lines of this fic, then that's mine. The story's my original take too, so I guess I own it. Well, a part of it, maybe.

**Remnant**

**By: Levan**

* * *

----------------------------------------------Prologue----------------------------------------------

* * *

To be a God.

That was what he wanted ever so dearly. It was all endearing to him – the world in the palm of your hand, infinite power as unimaginable as the heavens, and the massive genocide of billions and billions of feeble humans. His plan would surely prevail, and ensure his domination. Yet, amidst his confidence lies tangled doubt. Chris was being such a nuisance. And somewhat, he feared him.

Albert Wesker laughed to himself at the ridiculous thought, and slumped deeper into his seat. The monitor that shone in front of him caught his eyes as Chris Redfield was pummeled by none other than his partner, Jill Valentine. Such beauty it was for him – it was vengeance as crisp as the musky air that irritated his nostrils. The smell of inevitable death was at hand as Jill fought Chris relentlessly on the monitor, with the larger brute barely even making a threat on her. It was all too perfect. Chris could only stare as Jill would slowly tear him and his dark-skinned partner one after another.

Amidst the ruckus, two unfamiliar gunshots emanated from the speakers. They were gunshots that weren't from Jill's.

_He couldn't have killed her, can he?_

To Wesker's surprise, the special device on her chest – the device that was specifically controlling her – had begun to take damage. _Damn it, _he thought disappointingly once the two partners had already found out what was really going on. Another few shots came again, accurately hitting the device while Chris restrained Jill with his brute force. The device began to cackle and whizz, and at the opportunity, Chris lunged to Jill's temporarily stunned body and viciously tore off the device. The remote in Wesker's hand started buzzing wildly, indicating only one thing – he had failed.

With one straight blow, the monitor shattered into tiny fragments in a fraction of a second. Wesker stood there, his blood red eyes writhing in fury and teeth clenched tightly. His anger caused him to absent-mindedly crush the remote control in his hand.

_I never failed before. Not like this._

Excella watched it all right beside the door, tension in her veins escalating in massive degrees. The bronze-skinned aristocrat knew very well that Wesker wasn't exactly a person who tolerates failure. But amidst all the animosity developed around him, he was a man that certainly took a stand. A man of her dreams, she'd always think. But recently, Chris and Sheva had been giving out too much delay to their plans. His ability to survive… His expertise… Excella knew that he wasn't an ordinary agent to be messed with. Their plans lie in jeopardy with him around, and with every failure, their hopes of success dwindles. Maybe, just maybe, if they'd fail, there would always be some sort of back-up; something that would fortunately continue their plans in the event that Chris thwarts it.

That was when it hit her head; _him_. He was ready since the very beginning of Chris' descent in Africa. Hope suddenly sparkled beneath her despair. With a clear sign of determination concealed within her features, she brushed aside Wesker's tantrums and ran off towards the control room, in deep hurry to release him. Even if it would mean risking herself to Wesker's unimaginable fury.

The path to her salvation was farther than she thought it was. She ventured through multiple rooms, one after another filled with mindless Majini that oddly ignored her. She would sometimes halt immediately when one would glare at her so disturbingly that she shuddered in fear. Yet, she continued until she finally arrived at her destination.

The room was closely-spaced, with just a single door and two circular glass windows down by the left side. Papers and different files littered the clamped room. She walked carefully, trying with all her might to avoid stepping onto any files that may be of some importance to them, and proceeded to the lone computer unit on top of the only desk in the room. With loose fingers, she entered her account and proceeded to maneuver through the nearly endless data, click after click and flash after flash. Her eyes caught the single piece of data she was trying to locate, and then clicked on it twice.

_Project Veronica-002. Loading…_

Excella tapped the desk impatiently as the computer loaded in a molasses kind of phase. Of course, a woman with such nobility has no time to waste in their busy world. But she contemplated on her patience and thought; _time won't matter so much after this, not when you own the fabric of the universe itself_.

The monitor flashed abruptly in front of her eyes, causing her to rub it in irritation. Finally the computer responded again, and relief washed over her as windows had started to pop out randomly across the screen. She scrolled her mouse over to the "Activate" button on the screen, and at first there was a moment of hesitation in her action.

Wesker.

He wouldn't approve of it. Not at all. Yet, it felt as if it was the only way Excella would finally have him for herself. To finally have the man she amiably desired since the first day she'd met him. It clouded her mind from all consequences, and at once, she pressed the button.

A strident ring ripped through the silence. As she predicted, she looked at her watch and found out it was time for Wesker's regular basis of PG67 A/W. Without bothering to see the load finish, she left the room, only to be oblivious to the final chatter of the computer.

_Activation Successful._

It was the second to the last thing she'll ever do for her one and only love.


	2. Chapter 1: A Familiar Sight

A/N: Reviews already? Neat! *gives out cookies* Thanks for the encouragement and comments. :D

I'm done with the first ever chapter now, extra long I'd say. A bit of warning though, as I may change the rating to M depending on the amount of gore in the future chapters. This chapter *spoilers*has a wee bit of gore *spoilers* though is not exactly that graphic, cause I suck at it. Seriously. Also, ignore my mannerism of adding quotes from song lyrics… I just feel like placing them to add some feel. Hope you guys would take your time to write a review as well. So, enjoy!

Disclaimer: The Resident Evil Franchise is the property of dear ol' Capcom. However, on the occasion that I made an original character somewhere along the lines of this fic, then that's mine. The story's my original take too, so I guess I own it. Well, a part of it, maybe. Yes, I copy pasted this one from the Prologue. D:

**Remnant**

**By: Levan**

**Chapter 1**

**

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**

----------------------------------------------A Familiar Sight----------------------------------------------

* * *

"_And if tonight ever makes a difference,  
the way that I feel, the way that I'll remember it,  
I'll take this down until the glass remains  
swallow the words that I was meant to say."_

-The Cab, "Vegas Skies"

* * *

The distant colors of the sun's heat faded away into nothingness. Streaks of light garnered over the desolate metropolis; the sun had started to retreat beneath the utopian city. Towering buildings darkened from the rays and shadows formed below them – shadows that shaded the isolated streets below. The playground was deserted; the swings silently went to and fro from the wind, the empty seesaws slowly rose and dove unto the dusty floor, and a diminishing figure shone above the rest. Perhaps the playground wasn't exactly deserted after all.

A lone woman sat idly on a wooden bench, preoccupied with a small pocket book in her hands. A small purse lay beside her, carelessly loose from her shoulders. She was an average woman in her 30's, a redhead in all terms with her hair tied into a neat ponytail. She had eyes of pure sapphire and mid-toned skin, a beauty that definitely maintained youthful above the rest of the 30 year olds out there. A red cotton jacket was all she wore, with a pinkish shirt tucked underneath and blue jeans that most especially represented a modern woman – a femme fatal, with all the guts and courage as men, and inner strength as mighty as the bravest of warriors.

However, Claire Redfield was different from the rest. She was a woman full of experience, cunning, and the blood of a Redfield. She was one of the only women who fought for life against monstrosities, and freedom from bio-warfare. People never doubted a Redfield, considering how plausibly infamous they are around pharmaceutical corporations. She was no other than a hindrance to most of them, for she always took the stand and fought against corruption. Raccoon City was where it all started; Umbrella Corporation took a stand and took their own roles as gods, creating Bio-organic Weapons that broke the laws of nature. The company was now in shambles, through the help of the Redfields and everyone who stood against Umbrella Corporation.

Yet, bio-warfare seemed not to be over yet, especially due to the recent activities that occurred in Kijuju two months ago. World saturation – it deemed to be the end of the world, with Albert Wesker initially plunging them all to entropy and reckoning. Who other than Chris Redfield to save the world, considering his expertise regarding bio-warfare? Though the media and all the commotion sure gave them the praise they rightfully deserved, all was eventually forgotten, though all was safe. But with the scraps that Tricell and Umbrella left over, they were sure in a hell of a time cleansing the rest of the world. But in the midst of it all, they knew the danger was long gone. Umbrella had diminished, and Tricell was beginning to fall. Wesker was dead and no one was there to continue his plans.

Claire followed the text in her copy of J. D. Salinger's _Catcher in the Rye_, tears welling up slowly in her eyes as she read the last few pages of the book. The sudden sorrow throughout her face was immediately replaced by a curious one when footsteps began to hover around her ears. She quickly took a glance at the right, and a silhouette began to emerge at end of the street.

The silhouette became visible to her eyes in a fraction of a second as the figure passed through streaming light. The figure was a blonde woman, with two azure eyes sparkling with anticipation. She wore an awkward, over-the-top blue dress, and a hairband let her flowing blond hair stay in place. Like Claire, she carried a simple white purse, latched onto her shoulder casually. Unlike Claire, though, she was young – a youth beaming with opportunities, yet maturely developed. It was odd for Claire to see her like that, a once young girl suddenly passing through puberty, high school, and college, and coming out as a well-built woman with endless potential. Sherry Birkin; that was her name, yet her last name teemed with nightmares and battles for life itself. How long had it been… eleven whole years seemed to swoop by in just a single passing moment. The once, 12 year-old, frightened young girl had now evolved into a 22 year old, strong-willed, independent young woman. Time seems to swoop by when you're battling against the undead.

At the sight, Claire jolted upwards, still carrying the book at hand, and rushed towards her adopted daughter. Sherry hastened her footsteps as well and all ended with a warm and welcoming embrace. Both let go afterward, eyes glimmering with sudden hope.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Claire," she said, without as much intent to calling her 'mom', "They just did the usual."

"The usual, eh? I would've sworn you were eyeing one of those employees there the other day," Claire implied with a mocking grin.

"Claire, it's bad enough that you drive me home. It's not right snooping around somebody else's business. Besides, I'm a grown woman now. I can take care of myself."

"And you keep asking for allowance every single day, saying you _need_ them? I think not." Claire eyed her jokingly and Sherry just burst into laughter, and went straight to the red car at the other end of the street.

Claire thought over Sherry's release since a few years ago as she made her way to the car. It was mysterious enough that the U.S. government took her into custody just a day after she'd met her. She was just glad that she was able to see her again four years after her lockdown. Being the daughter of two ingenious scientists, it must be a very harsh life for Sherry. At least she graduated high school, then college, and now working her way onto her master's degree as a fully adept doctor. Claire couldn't be more proud of a very intelligent daughter, even after receiving endless trauma during the Raccoon City outbreak. No, on second thought, her true parents couldn't be more proud of their daughter. Even as their lifeless bodies decayed under the rubbles of Raccoon City, they would always watch over her, contented, relieved that she was all in all, safe, and had moved on life as it should have been, for her.

"Let's go Claire. I'm getting hungry," Sherry complained, sticking her hand out of the car window. Claire grinned and her heart warmed, seeing her so innocent like that. She hastened her footsteps, and at arrival, climbed onto the car.

The final streaks of light diminished when Claire pulled up the car windows. It distracted her for a moment, yet the distraction caused her to oddly see another figure. It was small, like an animal, yet the shadows formed from a single dumpster clouded the figure. Two, bright, yellow eyes glared at them, eyes that seemed to have belonged to a cat. At last, it left its hole, and it let itself become conspicuous to the redhead. It was a cat, as dark as the night sky – a symbol of disaster; a daunting color. It was purring to itself, staring straight at her blue eyes. She felt tense, and without anymore distractions, she started the engine and drove off to their home. The cat purred to itself even more, and retreated back to the shadows. Night had fallen.

-

At least an hour has passed and the once bleak city had now evolved into a broad suburbia. Homes of different shapes and sizes swept by, and at times some houses would look alike. Gliding past another few blocks, she drove continuously until they arrived at their destination, Claire's home. At arrival Sherry immediately jumped off the car and went straight to the front door, keys at hand to open it. Claire, on the other hand, let herself lazily amble to the front porch. Of course, like any other working woman, a house is but a heritage of liberation and respite. A woman like her had grown weary of a monotonous cycle of life, and there was not such an occasion wherein she actually felt excited to work.

As she walked, she caught sight of some of her "neighbors", who were quite obviously the agents assigned to keep Sherry under strict observation. Everything seemed to look normal in the neighborhood that it was out of place in an almost surrealistic sense. She slapped her cheeks with her palm, not wanting to converse with serious people like them, and climbed onto the porch.

Sherry fumbled through the keys long enough for Claire to arrive with her rather sheepish behavior. A slightly illegible mark that read "Front door" was the key she took with unnecessary confidence. She dug the key into the keyhole and twisted the knob, revealing the misshapen home.

Claire's home was not exactly a beauty in comparison to high class apartments. Though prim furnishings flooded each room, rubbish and other forms of garbage were scattered about with not much intention to be cleaned. Claire was previously a neat-freak from all standards but when her work got caught up lately, especially since that event in Kijuju, she'd been busier ever since, barely even having enough time to comprehend her desires.

Sherry went ahead to the dining room to cook dinner. The thought of dinner made Claire's stomach grumble in protest, and she simply proceeded to massage her empty stomach in hopes of enduring the pain a bit more. She went to the living room, through the arc at the right side of the hall, and sat on the couch. She let herself relax under the comfort of the plushy pillows. She laid her head on one while she carefully embraced the smaller one by her abdomen, and closed her eyes to rest.

However, a distant crash coming from the kitchen had her up and running towards the source of the noise. Simply it was Sherry, being her old clumsy self again, accidentally dropping the pans and pots down on the kitchen floor. Claire stepped forward and began to help the poor girl.

"Sorry. I was being clumsy again," Sherry apologized without ever looking up.

"Don't sweat it. It's not much of a big deal."

Sherry. No matter how much she could be annoying at times, her innocent, pale looks are practically evil enough to deceive her. As a matter of fact, Sherry had been living a non-restricted life ever since she was adopted, and possibly throughout the rest of her life. Her road was neither precarious nor risky, but that was a fact that was about to be proven wrong.

While piling the utensils, another loud noise irritated Claire's ears, but it was different somehow. It was unusually loud, like some sort of bang. Looking at Sherry, shock was evident through her features, indicating something bad did happen.

"Was that… a gunshot?"

Claire shook her head, yet she felt incredulous to her answer. It was highly unlikely that someone unauthorized would actually be here right now, but her heart thumped incessantly, fear pulsing up through her veins almost instantly. Aware of the precautions, she took hold of her handgun down by her holster but did not bring it out. She began to circle around the kitchen, pulling up the curtains of the windows to hide them from view.

"I want you to stay here, Sherry. Hide wherever you can."

"But…"

Claire interrupted her. "I mean it, Sherry."

She grumbled to herself, protesting, yet she managed to obey her orders. It was crucial to follow her, especially in a life and death situation. And what was occurring now seems to be growing as one. She hid inside the kitchen storage room, and closed the door.

Claire this time finally pulled out her M93R, handling it with much ease. Firearms seem to be her best friend at situations like this, and there would be no way in hell would she leave her trusty pistol out of its holster, especially not after that big blunder back at the Harvardville Airport, leaving her with an ironic and highly coincidental patterned umbrella. She crept towards the front door with care, trying as much as possible to keep quiet.

The ring of the doorbell made her jump instantly. Her heart thudded in response to the call. However, she mustered up her courage and walked up to the door. Peeking through the side window, she caught sight of an agent, wearing some sort of gardening uniform. She opened the door with relief.

"Something happened?" Claire asked.

He rolled his eyes, though Claire did not concern his rude action. "Something's up all right. Heard the gunshot a while ago?"

"Yeah."

"Well… after the bang, one of our agents who where patrolling around the area had gone missing. Someone, or _something_, is probably trying to infiltrate the area. Is the subject safe?"

"She has a name," Claire responded with disgust,"It's Sherry. And yes, of course she's fine."

"Good. I suggest you go over there and investigate with the other guys. We'll keep guard here." At those words, another agent appeared beside him, almost inconspicuous to her awareness.

Her lips twitched; she didn't trust them. Not that they were the infiltrators, but she didn't trust them that they would keep Sherry safe. Ascending down the porch with terrible loss, she joined the group of agents that crowded the area where the man was supposed to be patrolling.

"Miss Redfield, there's something wrong. One of our men had gone missing," one said once he spotted the redhead.

"I know. Any leads so far?"

"Not that we know of. The bang was too quiet to notice the exact source, like it was muffled."

"Silencer, maybe?" Claire guessed, hoping that she might give a lead.

"That may be possible. However, we don't implement silencers to our weaponry. And as a matter of fact, the sound of the bang was louder than it should have been with a silencer, so it's impossible to be a silencer. Something weird is going on in here."

An odd shadow passed immediately a few yards away from their position. Claire's eyes were ready enough to observe her surroundings. It was swift, almost impossible to see, yet the mystery about it continued on. The shadow came from the back of a tall, wooden fence, and something must probably be there.

"I think I saw something over there," Claire said, pointing over to the fence. The men nodded to each other and rushed to the scene. Claire followed, trying to keep up from their quick pace. One after another they climbed over the fence. She dreaded to see what was on the other side, but again, like before, she built up her confidence and forced herself to the other side.

The others stood frozen, shocked beyond belief. All of their heads pointed upwards to the walls of another house. Curious enough, she followed their stares and saw it.

Yes, it was the missing agent. His face was pale to the bone, and his skin was silky white. He remained latched on the wall with two shovels that drove through the wooden frame of the house. His legs and arms were now deformed, showing signs of completely brutal punishment. His chest was flattened to a pulp, blood pouring down on the sides of his abdomen and a huge quantity dripped down from his forehead. It was almost as if he was brutally tortured for hours, but his death was fresh to their observations. Above the poor victim's head was a reading. A statement that gave her more reason to scream despite holding it back from the sight.

_I'm back._

It couldn't be him. It deemed impossible, illogical, and utterly refutable. Chris told her he was dead. There was no way at all that he could still be alive after what he's been through. Were two RPG's not enough to obliterate that madman? She asked herself that, and maybe it really isn't enough after what's happened.

It happened too fast – a huge explosion erupted just beside Claire's home. She trembled, but not enough to stop her dead in her tracks. She rushed to the source without even bothering about what she saw back there. Her mind grew blank, and only one thing remained in her focus.

Sherry.

The other agents ran immediately as well, even faster than Claire. Their dark leather shoes clattered among the cement ground in an almost melodious fashion, and all faces were firm and valorous. All had lifted their firearms from their holster and held it in a way she would always remember as a survivor of Raccoon City.

A short distance felt like almost an eternity, but finally they arrived to the scene. Smoke spiraled above the cosmic sky, and a furious inferno continued among the side of her home. Realizing it was the same side where Sherry was hiding, she hastened her footsteps and went up the front porch, following the agents who already piled up inside the building. To her horror, the two agents she conversed with a few minutes before lay on the floor, lifeless, with their chests punctured and blood disgustingly pouring out among the wooden planks. She ignored them for now, and entered the blazing residence.

At the very moment she entered, a man was sent flying towards the living room in a matter of seconds. Three agents entered the room, and frantic screams filled the narrow hallway – screams of terror that made her cringe in fright. The few, remaining agents camped the archway, returning fire to whatever the hell they were shooting. When they made themselves visible to whoever was inside, a burst of red liquid showered them in an instant. It was liquid of pure, crystalline red and judging from its appearance, she remembered solely one thing. Some sort of chemical, a chemical she had only come to encounter more than a decade ago.

"No!"

The remaining agents burst into flames, spontaneously combusting right before her eyes. The red drops that scattered through the floor turned into tiny blazes of fire.

_Alexia? _

She shoved the thought. How the hell could she still be alive after all what they did to her? But that comes to the question, who was inside? Was it Wesker with some sort of new modification to his already inhumane body? Possible. But with her heart pulsating rapidly and tension increasing in her forehead, she ran inside to encounter the perpetrator.

The light was dim. The electricity had inconveniently gone out from the explosion, and the only illumination left to light up the cold night was the fire that burned her very own home, and the distant moonlight that was overcome by the flare of the flames. She entered the devastated dining room, and much to her dismay finding a large gap in the wall.

She had found the one responsible for all this; a tall, dark human clad with cloak as black as the night. In instinct she scurried her eyes above to its head, in curiosity to see its identity, but her intention only failed since it wore a grey mask – it was curved right above, covering its hair, and the front was a disturbing shape of a skull mask, which covered its whole face. The frame shone brightly over the roaring flames.

It stood there. She didn't even notice that she held it at gunpoint, accurately aimed at its head. The figure did not move an inch. It was stern, almost insusceptible in front of death. It took her time to notice that its arms was elevated from its hips, and was holding something, though blurry. When Claire noticed the small strand of blond hair on the blurry figure, she tightened her clench on her gun.

"Let her go. You don't need her."

It kept quiet. The grey skull mask seemed as if it glared at her so ominously. Her body went numb with fear, and she didn't move. She decided not to do something awkward at the moment.

"What do you want with her?"

It still did not respond. But suddenly it faced away to the open hole of the dining room, intent to leave the redhead alone. She clicked her gun.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot."

_Damn it Claire, just shoot him already._

Her conscience began to act and no sooner would she succumb to her last resort. She didn't want to shoot, in fear of her, and Sherry's life.

The figure ignored her warning and began to walk towards the hole.

_To no way in hell are you walking out with my daughter._

She fired with fear now aside and her Redfield blood gushing through her veins. Adrenaline pumped and her heart thumped faster than before, even in her fear, as she fired shots to its head. Unfortunately, her numbness had caused her to miss a few shots. Two bullets simply hit the solid wall right beside him. Another shot, however, that was accurately aimed, flung to its head. The clattering of metal echoed through the room, and a large chunk fell to the ground.

A flash of sparkling hair was what she saw through the broken headgear. Almost immediately she felt tense again, as it turned around to look at her. Blood red, crimson eyes stared at her portentously, but she felt another presence.

It was familiar. _His _eyes. Even through the glimmering red she saw through it. Innocence. The innocence of a child, in grown eyes. Familiar, yes, but was different, different in terms of what she had already seen. But that was over a decade ago. Though, his hair had shown something, something extravagant. Something that was oddly bittersweet, enthralling her, yet at the same time, made her cringe. Auburn hair – orange-like in color, with a mix of gold and red.

She froze. The once calm face of the man had been replaced by an infuriated gaze. With one quick motion his arm jolted upwards, horrifyingly holding a pistol. He fired.

Four shots penetrated her body. She fell instantly without feeling the pain that she withstood, but after sometime she was paralyzed; her chest screamed at her in full suffering. She couldn't move. Body trembling and eyes losing vision, she raised her hand. She raised her hand to call him.

"Steve…"

She didn't finish. Blackness engulfed her; her vision faded. Soon, she would just be another addition to the devil's playground – a lost soul, fooled by her memories and tricked by her beliefs. The man stood by, watching her slowly succumb to her death. He finally turned around once her eyes had closed, and as he walked, a single tear fell.

A single tear from a sinister, ruthless man.


	3. Chapter 2: Rebirth

A/N: Finally finished Chapter 2! It took a while, and I feel a bit disappointed with the outcome so if it came out really bad, just remember to slap my face for ruining the story. x_x

Sorry for taking a while to update. It's been really rough for me for the past weeks, since schoolwork is a big pain and is seriously catching up to me. Plus, I'm currently making another fanfiction about Bleach as well (guilty as charged!) and I couldn't fully concentrate myself on continuing this story. I'll try to update this story as soon as I can, and again, I apologize.

Thanks for everyone who reviewed. I'm really glad people are enjoying my story. Cheers! Hope ya'll enjoy this chapter! And yes, all your questions will be answered in this chapter…

Disclaimer: The Resident Evil Franchise is the property of dear ol' Capcom. However, on the occasion that I made an original character somewhere along the lines of this fic, then that's mine. The story's my original take too, so I guess I own it. Well, a part of it, maybe. *copy paste ninjutsu technique!*

**Remnant**

**By: Levan**

**Chapter 2**

**

* * *

**  
----------------------------------------------Rebirth----------------------------------------------

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"_I can't believe I said I'd lay my love on the ground,  
but it doesn't matter cause I made it up, forgive me now.  
Everyday I spent away, my soul's inside out.  
Gotta be some way that I can make it up to you somehow."_

-Nickelback, "I'd Come for You"

* * *

_I did the right thing._

That's what he believed. That's what he tried to convince himself. The more he tried, however, the more he grew incredulous. His incoherent babbling had really gotten him on a stretch – at times, he just didn't want to believe anymore.

In the middle of nowhere lied a small structure; it was a small house, situated right beside a steep cliff and an evergreen forest that braced the beauty of what he lived in. The placid, lifeless morning had gone by with little to no events, and no sooner had the daunting afternoon arrived from its cradle.

He stood by, pensive, lost beneath his thoughts. He leaned on one side of the house; his head was slumped down and eyes were closed into somewhat like meditation. Slight murmurs could be heard, murmurs full of hate, and at times, agony and regret.

Then there was a cry; his eyes flew open when sobs entered his ears. A pitiful cry – he entered the building and went down the hallway, and descended the stairs at the second door at the right. The cries grew louder – tears of sorrow dripped on the cold stone ground and slight whimpers of what seemed to be regretful statements continued on.

The last step forged the way to his vision – a cell. It wasn't ordinary as it seemed to be, though, once he peeked through the small window. It was like a luxury nest, advertently containing furnishings and apparatus that paved way for heightened living – it had a master bed, red in color and was intricately patterned, a dressing parlor complete with all beauty essentials, and even a television and an immaculate bathroom. The marbled flooring glistened with everlasting shine – the room had everything a woman would want but he remained oblivious to its luxury. It wasn't for him. It was for her.

Far off the corner was a girl, sobbing and curled into a fetal position. Her blond hair was crumpled and unkempt, and her tears continued to tap onto the marble with surprising intensity for a man such as him. His hearing despised those little droplets of sorrow. It irritated him dearly.

Looking over at the table in the middle of the room, the dinner he had prepared finely remained untouched, and even though tuna was one of her favorite foods according to her bio, it was not much of a factor for her anymore in captivity with this man.

He entered the room blatantly, but she ignored him.

"Please eat, Miss Birkin."

A plead from a kidnapper? She thought of it as some highly sadistic joke but she continued to bury her face between her knees, pretending to be oblivious.

"You need to eat your meal, Miss Birkin."

"My name isn't Birkin!" She screamed at him suddenly, her pure, azure eyes still flooding with an influx of droplets, trickling down from her eye down to her cheeks. She realized her outburst immediately and hid her face from him again. She continued.

"It's Redfield."

He felt amused. It was a rare sight for him to see such a human with surprising neglect with her own name. Redfield wasn't even the original name for her, in terms of her bio that he read weeks ago. He could still remember it all clearly from his photographic memory – Sheralin Birkin, age 23, daughter of biological father William Birkin, diseased, and Annette Birkin, diseased, and adopted daughter of current guardian, Claire Redfield. Yet there she was, feeling as if though she despised her own surname.

"You aren't a Redfield, Miss Birkin. Though legally you are, biologically, you will never be."

The moment he stepped towards the cell door, Sherry gazed at him. He felt her stare from his heightened senses, and faced her to hear what she had to say.

"Why? Why did you have to kill Claire?"

His stern expression partly disturbed her but she didn't care. She wanted answers. Her incessant lamenting had yet to stop – it was all too astonishing for Sherry. She loved Claire as much as a daughter would, and as much as a trustworthy friend would, but she died for her, and her heart was punctured permanently and she knew, that that large gap in her heart would never be recovered.

"Claire Redfield is not dead."

Her heart thudded, and she began to listen more attentively.

"I avoided all major organs inside her body, so intentionally, I had let her live."

Her tears stopped. She stared at the marble floor, tracing the long waves and curves of the design, and she felt joy. Her heart responded normally again, and the once gaping hole had filled itself with her memories about Claire, completing her life once again.

"Thank you."

The man just stood there, staring at her. Humans were quite fascinating for him; he had literally scarred her and isolated her from society but she was actually jovial and positive when she heard the news. He never anticipated a show of gratitude from her, not at her current situation. All that knowledge from human psychology turned out to be simply a waste from his perspective. The human mind is such a fascinating thing.

But out of her gratitude, his body began to emit that feeling again; a personal feeling of nostalgia, yet the past acclaims were never coherent. Memories that flashed into his mind were but a blur; they were nothing but images that barely made sense. No matter how he tried, he could not decipher these images in his mind. But he knew, it was all troubled. All about violence, greed, and death. Though, there was something else. An act of kindness, a form of love. It was a kindled flame that halted abruptly, all from something that occurred to him long ago. Something painful; something lost forever; something that had actually revived him from all his sorrows.

Maybe after all, he was human too, long before.

-

The bitter taste of ivory entered Claire's mouth, cold iron and a blast of oxygen waved through her senses. She panted heavily, her lungs forcing out all trapped carbon dioxide and cautiously inhaled deeply through her nostrils. It was strong and painful at first but then the pain halted, and her breathing had turned back into its usual mantra of inhales and exhales. She relaxed for those few moments, making every breath count. Her body was so stiff she could barely move a single muscle, like her body was constrained tightly, not even merciful enough to lend her eyes. Her other senses remained intact, however weak. She could smell the slightly thick air, roaming about wherever she was, and her ears could only hear the slight murmurs around the background and an occasional ring, followed by an unintelligible message.

_Why am I… here…?_

When she tried to recollect her mind, a sharp pain ambled towards her abdomen. She wanted to scream but her numbness hindered her; the pain emanated from four different spots… spots that seemed to have reminded her of something. She still couldn't remember, though.

The hazy murmurs suddenly turned into gasps and cries of astonishment after she felt that twist of pain. The once blurry senses had begun to clear again, and no sooner had she recovered her consciousness.

"Quick, call the doctor. She's moving."

The voice was a bit familiar for Claire – it was a coarse tone with an outlandish emphasis towards the ends of its words. The tone set her mind that he was a man, obviously. Perhaps, it really was familiar, but she couldn't tell. Skepticism was always her natural thing.

"She moved? When did she move?"

This time the voice was a female's – it was soft and highly recurring, like she had heard it numerous times long before. It was safe to say that it was familiar as well for Claire, yet not as much as the previous one's.

"She just twitched! I dunno, a spasm maybe but she just moved! Just go ahead and call the doctor Jill!"

_Jill?!_

It occurred to her that these voices truly belonged to the ones she knew, the ones she loved dearly, both family and friend alike. She began to remember again, memories flooded through her mind relentlessly and she desperately tried to open her eyes, just so she could see.

And there he was.

"Claire? Claire! You awake?"

The brunette in front of him slapped her cheeks feebly, taking into consideration that he might hit her too hard. They were both alike in some of their features, though Claire had gotten her eyes from their father while Chris had his from their mother. They were truly brother and sister indeed, a bond so strong that it expanded until the war against bioterrorism.

"C…Chris…?"

Chris Redfield jumped up, a joyous expression plastered across his features. He calmed himself down afterwards and sat back onto his chair again. Claire noticed that Jill was there as well, awkwardly wearing her standard B.S.A.A. uniform and cap. Strangely, her hair had reverted back into its normal, brunette self. She switched her eyes unto Chris again, who was ready to speak.

"Glad you're alright. You've been injured pretty badly."

Claire, now freely able to move her body again, searched around her chest to find the bullet holes that she remembered that penetrated her body. Four shots were too much – how could she have survived?

"The doctor said you were very lucky, since you weren't hit anywhere vital," Chris explained thoroughly, "Those bullets didn't even get to touch a part of your lung for that matter. The guy who shot you sure was an amateur."

She didn't reply. She could only keep her arm at rest by the traces of her wounds, recollecting to herself what had happened. Out of all those agents, why was she the only survivor? The others were mutilated, punctured, shot, and burned to death. She thought at first she'd join them to their demise, but she lived through it, just injured by four inaccurate shots. She could still feel the horrible pain in her chest, not by her wounds but on her loss; Sherry was gone without a trace, kidnapped, or worse, experimented on by that man – she quivered when the image flashed across her mind, a degrading thought lingering from her emotions. Still, she can't be certain. It couldn't be him, could he?

"Steve…"

Chris raised a brow. "Pardon?"

"Nothing. Don't mind me. Any leads on Sherry's whereabouts yet?"

"Rebecca's on it. Leon's glad to help too."

Leon – an old time friend. She felt relieved that even _he_ was affected enough to temporarily halt his governmental work.

"Don't worry, Claire. We'll find her. We've got the best team on the job."

The last thing that Claire wanted right now was pity. Just because she was incapacitated, it doesn't mean that she couldn't help at least one bit.

"Let me help-"

Chris let out a deep sigh, interrupting her completely. "Not this again. You should know you're in no condition to be walking around-"

"And so?" she glared at him with a rigorous stare, and began again. "Just because I have a few bullet holes through my chest doesn't mean I can't help. As her guardian, I'm willing to help with all I've got. You have to understand that."

"But-"

"She's right, Chris," Jill suddenly sputtered out, "She could easily do Rebecca's job, no biggie. I wouldn't doubt her current state at all."

"Fine," Chris said, feeling defeated. "I'll call Rebecca. I'll have her search around the surrounding towns. I'll let you have Rebecca's job but with only one condition…"

"And what's that?"

"You'll have to stay here for the next few days. I'm not allowing you to punish yourself, since it isn't your fault. At least you were brave enough to stand up against him."

The very mention of him made Claire's nerves twitch in vain. Chris noticed her eyes grow in shock, and then a sad expression painted across her features as she stared down on her bandaged hands rather than his brother's eyes. Somehow, it affected her, and Chris was determined to find out.

"What's wrong?"

Claire lowered her head even more, up until her eyes were completely hidden from his view.

"….Nothing. It's nothing."

Chris was very observant, though. He could easily sense the uneasiness of her voice, and he knew he was someone – and after receiving the reports about the corpses found in Claire's home, he was definitely something. Especially the report about the burned corpses... Everything was suspicious for him, and oddly, familiar.

"Alright then. I'm leaving for a while, so try and get enough rest, 'kay?"

She nodded, still with the same expression as before. Chris gestured over to Jill, willing to talk about something of importance. She followed him outside to the hospital hall, unaware of Claire's inquisitive instincts. She knew something was amiss – and it was enough to get her curious. She tried her best to endure the pain of standing upright. It wasn't exactly the best position to be, but it was obvious for her that Chris might mention something important, probably, something that would make sense from what she understands now.

She limped towards the door, and the rambling of the two partners grew much more vivid for each step she took – each step that struck her like a knife to the chest, yet the sting not enough to hinder her from her objective. She leaned over the wall, trying to eavesdrop. All her attention was diverted into her ear, and she concentrated.

"… and the fact that the bodies were burned to death through the composition, I'm sure I'm on to something."

"Composition? What composition?"

"There was a trace of a very odd liquid composition there, found by one of the investigators. When he showed it to me, I immediately recognized it – a simple produce of what we would call, the T-Veronica virus."

"And… considering the fact that you have encountered one who was also affected by this virus, you are familiar with it?"

"Of course. Well, now that we had a few dozen tricks up our sleeves, they managed to identify its complete composition. It was odd actually, since it was organic – meaning it contained carbon."

"What's so odd about that? The liquid was red, right? Like blood? Isn't blood supposed to be organic?"

"Yeah, but you see, this was the source of the flames we found. The fire that sprouted was not created by merely an ignition and a reactant – it ignited spontaneously without the need of any natural igniters. Except for…"

"Let me guess. The guy? The guy who shot Claire?"

"Bingo, Jill. You've read my report already, right? About the overview of the T-Veronica virus?"

"Of course I did."

"So, let me continue. The red blood was purely sodium, with a transparent outer layer that, instead of containing pure oxygen, contained carbon dioxide that completely covered the whole sodium content. In simple chemistry, sodium is highly combustible through even just the simple touch of water or oxygen. Now, after thorough experimenting, the guys were able to discover that the cells that composed the material were a remote-active time bomb, because it contained water. And water with sodium-"

"Makes it go boom. Hm. Interesting, reminds me of my chemistry class back in high school."

"Exactly, I know you would catch up. The cells activate through the will of the one who unleashed it. So it all comes to one thing - Steve Burnside."

"The boy that Wesker took… It makes sense, the fact that Wesker was able to extract some of the virus from him."

"And guess what, Jill. He actually has a non-biological sister, or rather, someone affected with the virus as well. And Leon found her a few years after Steve's body disappeared. Her name is…"

"Manuela Hidalgo."

"She has the same attributes as well – the ability to produce flames from out of the blue. There's still a possibility that she had met him before, and she could be our only lead to Sherry's whereabouts."

"But, wasn't Manuela taken by the government? How would we be able to find her?"

"Through Leon, of course."

The voices paused the completely, and Claire took this chance to soak the information all in – Manuela may be her only chance. And Leon is there to help her.

"Leon won't agree on us. You know the government doesn't trust the B.S.A.A."

"That's the problem. Shh, he's coming."

Footsteps began to erupt; leather pounded the floor loud enough for even Claire to hear.

"How's Claire," the voice asked sincerely. She was positive that it was him; the tone of his voice was enough to make her realize it.

"She's fine, Leon. Before we go, could we ask you something?"

"Maybe later. I really need to know how Claire's doing now."

"Okay. Keep her comfortable, okay? She's been through a rough time."

"I'll try my best. Both of you can go on ahead."

As the voices faded away, she lunged towards her bed in a desperate attempt to lie back down, but miserably she fell onto the floor, just inches away from the bed. Once the doorknob clicked, she tried to stand upright again, ignoring the suffering she felt.

The door creaked open, with a trace of blond hair appearing, and simultaneously glimmering from the shallow light.


End file.
